


Just a Mean Green Mother

by Allaine



Category: Batman (Comics)
Genre: F/F, Unofficial Sequel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-18
Updated: 2016-10-25
Packaged: 2018-08-23 03:08:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,144
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8311687
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Allaine/pseuds/Allaine
Summary: Poison Ivy doesn't even like Broadway.  So she certainly wouldn't invest in the revival of a stage musical.
Would she?





	1. Suddenly

**Author's Note:**

> This is an unofficial sequel to a story I wrote years ago called "Reap What You Sow", which can be found at http://catwoman-cattales.com/files/44sp-reapwhatyousow.htm. I'm extremely proud of that story, but it's twenty chapters long, and was itself a spinoff from the Cat-Tales series by Chris Dee, so if you just want to know the most basic and important facts:
> 
> 1\. Joker is dead.   
> 2\. Ivy assumed control of the Iceberg Lounge after she used her powers to bewitch the Penguin for such an extended period of time that the effect became permanent. She changed the name to the Rydbergii Lounge, then spent several months slowly running it into the ground before mounting a successful comeback. Penguin continues to run all of his black market operations, but he does so on her behalf. Much as Penguin did when he opened the Lounge, Ivy has retired from active villainy and become outwardly "legitimate". Her commitment to plants remains strong as ever, though.  
> 3\. Harley was the unwitting cause of Joker's death, and learning this caused her to have a total nervous breakdown. She spent months in Arkham, as her grief and self-loathing threatened to germinate into full-bore psychosis, until Ivy found a way to (mostly) wipe the memories from her mind. They are currently in a committed relationship and are very much in love, although if anything causes Harley to think too much about the night Joker died, her memories tend to come rushing back with a vengeance.  
> 4\. Because of her new, sedentary lifestyle, plus the twin stresses of running a business and making sure nothing triggers Harley's memories, Ivy is not quite the ravishing sex symbol she was before. Still one of the most beautiful women in all of Gotham, Ivy is a bit haunted by the persistent belief that others perceive her as fat or unattractive.
> 
> And that's it. (Oh, and this story contains spoilers for both the stage and screen versions of "Little Shop of Horrors", but I mean, you've had thirty years to see them.)

Chapter One

 

It all started the night Harley went up to Red’s office and passed another woman along the way. Her outfit looked really stylish and probably cost a thousand buckeroos, and she was wearing designer sunglasses, which Harley thought was weird considering they were _indoors._ At _night_.

 

She stopped and gave Harley the once-over, making her feel quite self-conscious, and then said something rather odd. “I don’t suppose you sing?”

 

Harley was beginning to think that this woman was the craziest person on that floor, which would be saying something. “Uh, yeah,” she said awkwardly. “On stage once, too.”

 

The woman sighed. “Ten years younger and maybe – “ Then she shrugged and kept walking.

 

Had she just called Harley _old_?

 

Harley scowled. Try saying shit like that about her in front of Red and _then_ see what happens to you.

 

Speaking of which, why had she been meeting with Ivy anyway?

 

Suddenly filled with curiosity instead of discomfort, Harley scurried on toward Ivy’s office, the original reason she came upstairs totally forgotten. She didn’t even knock, barging in. “Who was that?”

 

Ivy was sitting at her desk, but instead of doing paperwork, she was leaning back in her chair, looking thoughtful. “Yes, Harley?” she asked, blinking.

 

“The lady in the Gucci glasses. Who was she?”

 

“Oh, her,” Ivy said, frowning. “I don’t think I got her name, but she left a business card. Let me see . . . “

 

Red was a lot better at talking to people than she was a couple years ago, but she still left a few things to be desired, and one of those things was people’s names. Ivy tended to give strangers less than her full attention unless they gave her a reason to listen to them, and by the time that happened, their names had been the first casualty.

 

Ivy snatched up what was apparently the strange woman’s business card. “Gertie Dickens,” she read dubiously. “Gaia, what a dreadful name. Don’t people in the entertainment industry change their names or something?”

 

“She’s an actress?” Harley asked, surprised. She followed all the gossip sites and she hadn’t recognized her.

 

“No, fortunately,” Ivy said. The number of actresses who had ended up on her shit list for endorsing some kind of product that killed plants outnumbered the ones who hadn’t. “She’s a Broadway producer.”

 

“Really?” That interested Harley. Ivy probably couldn’t name a theater on Broadway if you paid her, but Harley loved musicals. She’d seen Wicked eight times after all. Her and Kristin Chenoweth – twins!

 

Ivy nodded. “Yes, apparently I’ve officially made it. I’ve got people approaching me out of the blue, asking me to invest in their theatrical productions.”

 

_Uh-oh._

 

“Please tell me you didn’t,” Harley said, sitting down.

 

“Of course not,” Ivy replied, waving a hand dismissively.

 

_Whew_. Everyone knew that investing in a Broadway show was a great way to lose money. Everyone, that is, except Poison Ivy, who had turned the Iceberg into the Rydbergii without giving any thought to how hard it would be, and who had made it a success solely through sheer stubbornness and luck, with a generous assist from Selina. “What was she trying to get you to invest in?”

 

Ivy hesitated, and Harley’s blood pressure started creeping up again. “Well, you see, apparently when a show closes and someone wants to reopen it, they call it a ‘revival’? This Dickens woman wants to revive Little Shop of Horrors. Which was funny, since I didn’t realize it was ever on Broadway to begin with.”

 

Of course she didn’t. “About ten years ago,” Harley said with forced casualness. “But it was an off-Broadway show even before it was a movie.”

 

“Yes, she mentioned that.” Ivy suddenly looked irritated. “She thought she knew me so well. She must have thought, _Oh, I’ll tell her I’m producing a feminist reinterpretation of that musical about carnivorous plants, and she’ll have her checkbook out in two seconds flat._ Honestly, Harley, you’re the only person who gets me at all.”

 

That was because “getting” Ivy made Harley’s life a lot easier. The notion that Poison Ivy was a “feminist”, for example, was a common misconception. Harley didn’t know what the modern definition of “feminism” was, but she was pretty sure that it boiled down to “Rights for women!”

 

She was also pretty sure that it did NOT boil down to “No rights for men!” That, however, came a lot closer to Ivy’s personal philosophy toward the battle of the sexes. Fighting discrimination against women didn’t have any particular meaning to her, except where it could conceivably lead to discriminating against men.

 

Now guessing that Poison Ivy liked Little Shop of Horrors was, on the surface, a no-brainer. Highly intelligent and dangerous plants from another world try to conquer Earth. Of course Ivy was the one person in the theater rooting against the humans.   Over the years Harley had probably seen her watch the movie thirty times. Well, most of the movie, anyway. She always seemed to stop the DVD right when Seymour was about to electrocute the plant. Funny, right?

 

It wasn’t just the giant plant, though.

 

No one would ever suggest that Harley was the smart one in the relationship, least of all Harley. But come on, she wasn’t an _idiot_. Cute blonde, high-pitched voice, in a physically abusive relationship with a man who has a thing for LAUGHING GAS? Okay, maybe Harley had been a little slow to pick up on it. But eventually she was going to realize that Audrey was her, that the boyfriend was Mistah J, and that the boyfriend being consumed by the plant was totally a wish-fulfillment fantasy for Red.

 

Although Harley was sure Ivy had been more than willing to settle the way Puddin’ had actually died, the night . . . eh, she didn’t like to think about that night, it was still fuzzy.

 

Anyway, hoping Poison Ivy would invest in a revival of Little Shop wasn’t a crazy idea, but trying to play upon her “feminism” was the wrong way to go about it. And Harley said as much to Red. Ivy chuckled in response. “Well, she DID eventually circle back to the plant when she realized that a name like Gloria Steinem means little to me.”

 

“But you’re not interested, right?”

 

“Totally not interested,” Ivy agreed. “The kind of money she was looking for? There’s too much to be done in South America without spending it on something so frivolous.”

 

Ivy had set up a multitude of nonprofit organizations, most of which couldn’t even be traced back to her. They all had the same purpose, purchasing rainforest acreage in South America to protect it permanently from being slashed and burned. With Ozzie’s help Ivy had been funneling a colossal chunk of her black market profits into these organizations.

 

“Especially when the plant doesn’t even win in the end,” Ivy added darkly.

 

Harley hadn’t been able to help herself, which in retrospect was probably a mistake. “The musical ends differently,” she found herself saying out loud.

 

Ivy cocked her head. “What do you mean, Harl?”

 

“Um,” Harley said. She had really shoved her foot into her mouth this time. Still, Red _had_ said that the rainforest came before everything else. “Everyone dies, and the plants win in the end.”

 

“Really?” Ivy asked hopefully. “She DID say something about how I should Google the stage production. Maybe that was why.”

 

“Yeah, but I mean Red, I don’t know what she was asking for, but you just said it yourself, it’s too much for a Broadway show.”

 

“Yes, of course you’re right,” Ivy murmured. “Although – “

 

Harley resisted the urge to slap her forehead.

 

“The money is in a bit of a logjam right now,” Ivy said. “Oswald says that there’s been a Bat-problem recently with our money launderer, he’s looking for an alternate avenue. I wonder if something like this might be an option.”

 

“Don’t you usually get the money BACK after you launder it?” Harley asked pointedly.

 

“What do you mean?”

 

“Red, come on, investing in a Broadway show is a great way to lose every penny. Some of these shows, they run for three years and they still don’t make enough money to turn a profit.”

 

Ivy frowned. “Are you saying I couldn’t do it?”

 

Harley groaned. Maybe she _didn’t_ “get” Ivy. “It wouldn’t be up to you, Red. You’re just one of the people giving money. Every other investor has an equal say – “

 

“Well, what if I was the only investor? Then the producers would have to listen to me, wouldn’t they?”

 

Aghast, Harley shook her head vigorously. “No! I mean yeah, they would, but we don’t have that kind of money, Red!”

 

Ivy glowered at her. “I KNOW that, Harley. You think I don’t know that?”

 

Yes, yes she certainly did, but of course Harley wasn’t going to SAY that. “I know you know. I just don’t want you to forget it.”

 

“I haven’t forgotten. Like I said, I’m not going to do it. Happy?”

 

Harley sighed. “Yes, Red.”

 

She was so going to do it.      

_____________________________________________

Harley cursed several things the next afternoon. She cursed her own rotten luck in going upstairs to see Red just as Gertie Dickens was coming down the hall. If Harley hadn’t seen her, Ivy would probably have forgotten all about the proposition and that would have been that.

 

She cursed Gertie’s timing as well. If the producer had come during the day, Harley could likely have wiped any memory of the meeting from Red’s head with plenty of mind-blowing sex. That often did the trick when Ivy picked up a bad idea from somewhere. But instead she visited the Rydbergii at night, and Red didn’t like leaving earshot of the main floor until closing time.

 

Speaking of which, memory mind wipes, why did that ring a . . .

 

It wasn’t important. What was important was that most of all, Harley cursed her big blabbermouth for enlightening Ivy as to what only she would consider the “happier” ending of the stage show. Because now the two of them were in Gertie’s office, and Ivy was almost definitely going to write a check that she’d never make a cent off.

 

“I’m glad you reconsidered,” Gertie was saying to Ivy.

 

“Let’s say I . . . reconsidered the considering. I haven’t made up my mind yet,” Ivy replied. “I want to know more about what I’d be putting my money into.”

 

“Sure, sure, Ivy,” Gertie said. “Did you Google the musical like I suggested?”

 

“No, but Harley mentioned something about how the ending was different?”

 

Gertie’s eyes momentarily flicked over toward Harley before dismissing her and returning to Ivy. Probably because Harley wasn’t the one with the big wallet, she thought as she stewed silently.

 

“Yes, the ending is the biggest difference, what my assistant calls the ‘Plants rule, everybody dies’ ending,” Gertie said smoothly.

 

Harley couldn’t help rolling her eyes.

 

“But,” the producer continued, “there were a few other important changes. I suppose you know what I’m talking about, Ms. Quinn?”

 

Gertie was looking at her now. Harley sensed she was expecting her to say “No”, which sucked because that was exactly what she was going to say. “No,” she muttered. “I saw it years ago. I didn’t realize there was going to be a quiz.”

 

The woman behind the desk shrugged. “Well, there’s the way in which Mr. Mushnik dies, of course. Seymour plays a largely passive role in the movie. The worst he did was fail to warn Mushnik about the plant that was about to eat him. Mind you, the same man who was pointing a gun at him and trying to blackmail him. You could almost look at it as self-defense.”

 

“Yes, of course,” Ivy agreed. Love the movie as much as she did, there were certain elements Harley knew Ivy didn’t like beyond the plant dying. Elements such as Seymour being a “sniveling worm” who let good things fall into his lap and then pissed and moaned about the cost. Ivy might see Audrey and the dentist and think of Harley and Mistah J, but there was no way in _Hell_ she’d ever see herself in Seymour.

 

“Well,” Gertie replied, “in the musical, Seymour takes a much more active role in Mushnik’s death. He intentionally deceives his employer by claiming the day’s receipts were stashed inside Audrey II, knowing that the greedy old fool wouldn’t be able to leave without retrieving them. And of course, he becomes the next meal instead. From that moment forward, he is equally complicit in Audrey II’s crime, a conspirator instead of a mere accessory, and that’s what later enables the audience to watch Seymour be eaten in turn and not shed many tears for him.”

 

“Hm,” Ivy only said.

 

Harley didn’t like that “Hm”. Ivy’s reaction to almost every scene in the movie was virtually opposite from everyone else on Earth, so she was probably reluctantly impressed by Seymour’s cleverness, not repulsed by it. And the more the play sounded like an improvement upon the movie, the more likely Ivy would invest in it.

 

“For all its differences, however, the movie and the musical are quite similar in one very disappointing aspect,” Gertie added. “Audrey never rises above being a damsel in distress. She might as well have the word VICTIM tattooed to her forehead.”

 

Harley flushed as a memory of Ivy’s voice crept into her head.

 

_If you had a middle name, it would be WELCOME._

 

Meanwhile Ivy was nodding vigorously. “Yes, a victim. She lets herself be pushed and pulled by whatever man happens to be nearby, and just because Seymour doesn’t beat her, she believes she’s happy following his lead.”

 

“Skipping off to a life of being smothered by her husband, letting him make the decisions. And it’s actually a little worse in the musical,” Gertie said. “Unlike in the movie, Seymour isn’t able to rescue Audrey from the plant until she sustains fatal injuries and dies a short time later. Her last wish is to be fed to the plant so _they can be together forever_.”

 

Both women then made identical gagging and hacking noises, startling Harley.

 

“So,” Ivy replied, collecting herself. “When you say ‘feminist reinterpretation’ then, I imagine you want to do something different with Audrey.”

 

“That and a few other things,” Gertie told her. “I find it absurd that a plant which clearly identifies itself as a ‘mother’ in one song is portrayed by a male singer. I would cast a woman to play Audrey II, someone in the mold of Jennifer Hudson, perhaps.”

 

Ivy glanced over at Harley, who would forever be relied upon as her pop culture expert.

 

“Think Mercedes from Glee,” Harley said, and Ivy nodded. Three seasons of being forced by Harley to watch it, and Ivy still unconvincingly claimed to hate it, but at least she knew who Amber Riley was.

 

“But yes,” Gertie continued. “We’re planning to make the climax Audrey’s victory, not Seymour’s. She’ll save _herself_ from the plant, be the one to strike it dead, and then she’ll kick Seymour to the curb for killing her boyfriend. Not out of any special affection for the abusive jerk, but for presuming to fix her love life for her, and then lie about it.”

 

Harley had grown increasingly pessimistic as the conversation wore on, realizing that this investment was becoming a done deal, but at that moment she received a sudden burst of hope. Because she saw the way Ivy leaned back in her seat. Something Gertie said had turned Ivy off, and now she was almost radiating her disinterest. Not that Harley understood WHY. The script idea sounded exactly like something Ivy would appreciate. Audrey stealing her moment in the spotlight away from that “useless putz”, saving the world, killing the –

 

Oh. Of course. Ms. Dickens had gotten so carried away by the feminist angle that she had forgotten she was talking to the _plant lady_.

 

The producer was probably no slouch at reading the body language of potential investors, and she looked hesitant. “At least, that is, that’s what the writing team is looking at right now,” she said uncertainly. “They’re pretty busy, actually. We’re trying to fuse the events from the movie with those of the musical, you see, so nothing’s set in stone, and – “

 

“No, I don’t think so,” Ivy said indifferently. “I know how it goes. A plant that can think and speak and move as well as a human, it must be bad, _let’s kill it!_ ”

 

Harley smirked as Gertie began visibly scrambling. “Well, Ivy, don’t forget, Audrey II is just the vanguard of an alien invasion. The very end of the musical talks about other plants appearing in other cities and wreaking similar havoc. Just because Audrey II dies, it doesn’t mean humanity has to survive.”

 

“Right, right. Of course, it doesn’t mean humanity has to die either. You’ll just leave it ‘open to interpretation’,” Ivy said, making air quotes with her fingers, “and most everyone will leave the theater believing that those other plants met similar fates. Harley, we should probably – “

 

“As an investor, Ivy,” the producer said desperately, “we would of course be willing to entertain any ideas you might have.”

 

Ivy paused, and then looked briefly at Harley. All of her hopes vanished in an instant, because Harley caught a very familiar flash of completely ruthless cunning in Ivy’s eyes, something she hadn’t seen much of since they’d allegedly gone straight. This wasn’t rejection, this was _negotiation_.

 

“You want ideas?” Ivy asked idly.

 

“Whatever you’ve got,” Gertie answered immediately.

 

Ivy shrugged. “Step one? Turn Seymour into Sandra. Everything follows from there.”

 

Harley stared at Ivy. That had never occurred to her, but she could see Red had been waiting to say that for some time.

 

“Turn Seymour . . . into Sandra?” Gertie asked, uncomprehending.

 

“You want to make the musical less about the economic hardship of Skid Row, and more about the oppression of a patriarchal society in the 1950s, that’s fine,” Ivy said casually. “But Seymour? He’s no oppressor. He’s a wimp. He couldn’t smother Audrey with an Ambien and a _pillow_. I know you said the theatrical version is more cutthroat, but frankly I don’t buy it from him.

 

“But you make Seymour a woman, and suddenly there are opportunities! Audrey could just have been born with a passive, weak personality. But her AND Sandra? That’s a pattern, a pattern created by the men they allow to control them. Absentee fathers, controlling bosses, abusive boyfriends.” Ivy’s eyes almost seemed to be alight. “And this plant comes along and says, ‘Hey, I’ll make all your dreams come true, and all you have to do is kill a few men and feed them to me’? Seymour might whine about reservations, but Sandra, she’d just see it as having no downside!”

 

Harley just went right on staring at Ivy. How long had she been thinking about this?

 

Gertie was tapping her fingers on the desk. “Audrey and Sandra, you said? So Audrey would still be a woman?”

 

“Oh, of course. And we’d keep the romantic angle. What’s more feminist than jettisoning men from every corner of your life?”

 

“That’s . . . true, in a very strange way,” Gertie admitted. “But even in today’s day and age, some audiences won’t want to see it if it’s about two lesbians.”

 

“This is Gotham, not Little Rock,” Ivy replied. “Besides, you’ll have an easier time picking up new investors, and you won’t lose any you currently have.”

 

“How do you know that?”

 

“What are they going to say? They want their money back because they don’t like gay people? Good luck being a part of the Gotham stage community ever again then!” Ivy said shrewdly.

 

Harley wouldn’t have guessed that Ivy knew the first thing about the “Gotham stage community”, but ever since they’d become an outwardly legit and openly gay couple, the civilian customer base at the Rydbergii had pinged Harley’s gaydar more than it had before. Ivy had become a minor local lesbian icon, and Harley supposed she’d picked up a thing or two since then.

 

“Yes,” Gertie said, “but all those other investors will have their own opinions, and they may not agree with yours.”

 

Ivy smiled at the producer. Harley thought it made her look like a crocodile (with perfect skin). “Broadway shows ARE quite expensive, aren’t they? And you said you’ll be fusing the musical and the movie. That means you’d need to buy the rights to both. That will increase the cost of your production, won’t it? And of course, there’s all the money you’ll need to spend on the plant itself. Something mechanical, I imagine?”

 

“Probably,” Gertie said slowly.

 

“Or,” Ivy replied, “you could just use a live one.”

 

_She wouldn’t._

 

“The reason Little Shop of Horrors is a fantasy, Ivy, is that it involves giant plants from outer space,” Gertie pointed out. “There aren’t exactly any real, live Audrey II plants out there.”

 

Ivy shook a finger at her. “Don’t act like you don’t know who I am, what I’m capable of. You know I can create exactly what you need, and it will look completely real because _it will be_.”

 

_She would_.

 

The bewildered look on Gertie’s face was slowly being replaced by one of avid greed, something Harley normally only got from Ozzie. “You could grow something resembling an Audrey II,” she said.

 

“Honey, I’ve made _bigger_ plants than that. I could make it touch the roof of the theater if I wanted to. I give you that, AND my money, and you give me final say on what story we’ll be telling.”

 

Gertie frowned. “I couldn’t give you sole authority for something like this. I’d need an equal voice.”

 

“Fine,” Ivy said, “but if we can’t both agree on something, then it doesn’t happen.”

 

Harley looked helplessly at the veteran Broadway producer. Didn’t she see? Wasn’t she paying attention? Gertie was giving Ivy free rein to take all the perceived flaws in the movie she knew better than any other, and “fix” them any way she saw fit. Hello?! This movie was already a long-time _wish fulfillment fantasy_ for Ivy, and now she was asking Gertie for the _magic lamp!_

 

Gertie grinned. “You put a signed check in my hand, and we’ve got a deal.”

 

Maybe Ivy had been wrong. Maybe Harley didn’t get her AT ALL.

 

To be continued . . .


	2. Grow for Me

Chapter Two

 

Harley had decided in the cab that, once they returned home, she would give it a minute. Ivy had to be able to sense the awkward tension that had settled over them as soon as they left Gertie Dickens’ office, and so Harley would give her a minute to bring it up. Maybe she would even know what the problem was.

 

After that, however, all bets were off.

 

“Look,” Ivy said thirty seconds in, “I realize you’re probably a little upset that I didn’t let you in on the plan – “

 

Clearly Red did NOT know what the problem was.

 

“But it had to look believable, and if you knew I was just winding her up, she might have caught on.”

 

“You think THAT’S why I’m a little upset?” Harley asked, incredulous. “Not to mention, a _little_ upset? Red, I don’t care that you didn’t tell me you had a PLAN because you thought I might not be able to keep a straight face. I care that you didn’t tell me what the plan WAS, so I could then tell you what a _horrible idea it was_!”

 

Ivy looked back at her, bewildered. “Horrible idea? Harley, I certainly wasn’t just going to hand her a check! Be treated like just another investor! You heard her. She was so wrapped up in her radical feminist views that she was willing to let the plant die in the end!”

 

“Alleged plant,” Harley muttered.

 

“I beg your pardon?”

 

“Alleged plant,” Harley repeated, louder. “I’ve watched the movie enough times with you. You have no way of knowing if Audrey II is a plant or not.”

 

“Are you joking? It refers to itself as a plant! It LOOKS like a plant! It has roots! It lives in soil! And it has leaves and tendrils and – “

 

Harley interrupted her. “So it’s a plant.”

 

“Yes, Harley, of course it’s a plant.”

 

“Like mushrooms.”

 

Ivy stared at her like she’d begun singing Beatles tunes backwards. “No, Harley, no, not like mushrooms, of COURSE not like mushrooms, how could you even THINK mushrooms are plants??”

 

Harley shrugged. “It LOOKS like a plant, it lives in soil, it has – “

 

“That is _completely_ different. Mushrooms are fungi, not plants.”

 

“And Audrey II is an alien, not a plant! Again, an _alien,_ Ivy. As in, from another planet! There’s no way to tell what the hell kind of living thing it is! Back where it’s from, fungi could look like _purple crocodiles!_ ”

 

“Harley, this is a completely pointless discussion. You can’t be angry over what species the Audrey II is!”

 

Harley placed her hands on her hips and glared at Ivy. “No, actually, I kinda am. Like I was saying earlier, you said you didn’t run your plan by me first because you were afraid the producer might kill off the plant that might not even be a plant!”

 

Ivy flung her hands in the air. “It doesn’t matter if it’s a plant or not, Harley! Everyone in the AUDIENCE will think it’s a plant, and they would have been the ones to walk out of the theater, saying ‘Hooray, the plant is dead’.”

 

“Gotta tell you, Red. Whatever your plans are for the script, I don’t see anybody leaving the theater and saying ‘Hooray, the plant is ALIVE’.”

 

“Oh, is that it?” Ivy asked. “You want to know what my plans are for the script? You’re complaining that I didn’t tell you, so I’ll tell you now. It’s going – “

 

“No,” Harley said, holding up a hand. “I’m not in the mood to hear about it. Again, you’re missing the point, Ivy. This is a _very bad idea_.”

 

Ivy sat down. “Yes, you keep saying that, but I don’t understand. I told you about this woman, I told you why she came, I even told you we were going to meet with her. You could have said it was a bad idea then – “

 

“I did. Remember? I said, you’re not going to do it, right? And you were like, oh no, of course not, Harley.”

 

“All right, fine, but when I started thinking YES instead of NO, that would have the time for you to speak up, and you did NOT,” Ivy said triumphantly.

 

“Because,” Harley said, looming over her, “THEN it was just about you investing money in the production. Okay, I figured, so you’d lose every dime, but it’s not like we’re poor, so I’d let you have this.”

 

Ivy looked aggravated, maybe because of Harley’s lack of confidence in her knowing what a good investment looked like. “Then what is – “

 

“Because that’s not what we’re talking about NOW, is it, Red?!” Harley exploded. “Now you’re growing giant plants for the stage and demanding script rewrites! I would have told you THAT was the REALLY horrible idea, but I never got the chance because I first found out about it the same time Gertie did!”

 

“Oh,” Ivy said, flushing. “Okay, yes, I can see why you would feel that way.”

 

Harley groaned and sat across from her.

 

“But why is this the REALLY bad idea?” Ivy asked. “It’s not like I’m giving her any more money.”

 

“You think I give a shit about the money, Red?” Harley responded, amazed. “I give a shit about YOU. I give a shit about what this is going to DO to you.”

 

Ivy blinked. “Excuse me?”

 

Harley knew she wasn’t the genius in the relationship, so why did it always feel like she was the one explaining things to Ivy? “Ivy, by the time this show opens, everyone in Gotham is going to associate it with one thing and one thing only, you. And if it fails, who are they going to blame?”

 

“IF it fails.”

 

“I’m sorry, did I say that? WHEN it fails.”

 

Ivy looked hurt, which Harley could understand, but it needed to be said. “You’re not exactly brimming with confidence in me, Harley.”

 

Harley sighed. “No offense, Red, but this is exactly like what happened with the Iceberg. I wasn’t even HERE for most of that, and I know it’s exactly like the Iceberg.”

 

“The Iceberg. As in the Rydbergii. As in the club which has certainly NOT failed, which is a success?”

 

“Yes, that Iceberg. And it did succeed, in spite of the fact that you took over with no experience in running a nightclub, and that you had no idea how hard it was gonna be when you started.” Harley looked her in the eyes. “You gonna say I’m wrong?”

 

Ivy frowned. “No, you’re not wrong. Still, I don’t see why the Rydbergii symbolizes why this musical will fail.”

 

“You mean, besides the fact that you have as much Broadway experience as you did nightclub experience?”

 

“Yes,” Ivy muttered. “Besides that.”

 

“The Rydbergii only survived as long as it did because it had virtually no competition when it opened, and even when Jenna’s showed up, Jenna turned out to be cuckoo for Cocoa Puffs, and she ended up crashing and burning. Red, your show will have all KINDS of competition. People don’t want to see the stage version of a movie from thirty years ago, they got all sorts of shows to see.

 

“But you don’t seem to GET that, just like you didn’t get it when you took over the Iceberg. If the show doesn’t open well, that’s it, you’re done. You can’t just ride out a couple months of low sales until people magically show up. They won’t,” Harley told her.

 

“You know,” Ivy replied, “for someone who says she’s so concerned about what this will _do to me_ , you certainly do seem to be insulting me a lot.”

 

Harley rubbed her eyes. “It’s for your own good, Red. Like I said earlier, they’re going to blame you when the show fails. You took a known commodity with a history of success, you made a bunch of changes, you opened it back up, and it flopped. Sound familiar? Oh yeah, _the Iceberg Lounge_.”

 

Ivy got up from her seat on the couch and walked away. “So what? You think I care what ten million peons think of me? Did I ever care before? Harley, regardless of everything you’ve said, the Rydbergii IS a success. I’ve cornered the black market as well. And you, you’re finally a daily part of my life. My life is perfect, Harley. I don’t care if some idiots decide I’m the laughingstock of Gotham.”

 

“If that’s true,” Harley said quietly, “then why is it every time I let you go shopping by yourself, you come home with bags of clothes that’re one size too big?”

 

Her girlfriend flinched. The mortally wounded look Red gave her cut her deeply. “How _could_ you?” she asked.

 

Harley hated herself for asking it. But Ivy wasn’t denying it.

 

“I don’t like bringing it up either,” Harley admitted. “Believe me, I don’t. Maybe you wouldn’t be like this now if it wasn’t for me. Maybe if I hadn’t spent all that time in Arkham, too wrapped up in my own problems to care about anything else, I would have been here to – “

 

“Harley, STOP,” Ivy said. Suddenly she looked a lot less hurt and a lot more horrified. “You can never, EVER blame yourself for anything that happened to me during your last time in Arkham. I don’t even want you to think about those days, much less assign fault to yourself for something you didn’t even do.”

 

Ivy had freaked out like this the first time Harley had said something along those lines. She appreciated the concern, but it was hard not to think that way. For as long as Harley had known Ivy, she’d had an unshakeable image of herself as The Goddess, the most desirable woman alive, able to walk without shame among lesser mortals in the skimpiest clothes – if you could call bunches of leaves “clothes”.

 

By the time Harley left her cell at Arkham for good, that image was gone, permanently shattered into a billion pieces. Ivy hadn’t gone into much detail about what happened. She always hated talking about the months Harley was gone. She had just said something about too many long hours at a desk, too little self-care, too much stress, and looking at herself in the mirror one day and admitting that the clothes were starting to not fit. That and something about Oswald accidentally seeing her naked. “It was a Really Bad Day,” Ivy had told her.

 

Harley remembered a different day. Mainly she remembered it for the best reason of all – Ivy had asked her out on a date for the first time, and she’d said yes. But she also remembered how Ivy simply _would not_ take a compliment. In fact she’d been convinced that Harley was trying to be _insulting_. And then there was the shopping trip after, when they’d looked for new clothes for Harley, and she’d practically needed to break Ivy’s arm to try on anything that was the least bit revealing.

 

Ivy didn’t have a Really Bad Day while Harley was gone. She must have had a Really Bad MONTH to believe so strongly that she was fat and unattractive. And it was another month before Ivy finally accepted that when Harley paid her a compliment, it wasn’t because she was trying to be “nice” or “supportive”. It was because she _wanted her_.

 

“Fine, it’s not my fault,” Harley said with only enough sincerity to sound like she halfway meant it. “Doesn’t change the fact that you look at yourself in the mirror like you have an eating disorder – “

 

“I most certainly do _not_ – “

 

“That you act like Perez Hilton is camped outside our door with a camera so he can call you a fat-ass on his website – “

 

“I don’t even know who that person - ”

 

“Or that _my_ opinion of how you look doesn’t seem to count for as much as those ten million peons you mentioned!”

 

Suddenly Harley was no longer sure if this was about the Broadway thing any longer.

 

Ivy looked pained. “I’m sorry if I’ve made you feel that way,” she eventually said. “But you’re also a little biased in my favor.”

 

“That doesn’t make it not true.”

 

“I know that,” Ivy said. “If I didn’t know that, no amount of pleading could make me buy some of the outfits you like when we go shopping TOGETHER. It’s just something I’m working on, okay?”

 

“I think Michelangelo worked on the Sistine Chapel quicker.”

 

Ivy shrugged. “The doctors at Arkham always did say I was one of their most difficult patients.”

 

Harley snorted.

 

“And you know that if I didn’t have some say about what went into that musical,” Ivy added, “that would end up driving me crazier than the thought of losing my investment. Having my name attached to a failed musical wouldn’t hurt my reputation as much as having my name attached to a successful musical where the – where the thing that certainly LOOKS like a giant plant gets slaughtered at the end just to save a few worthless humans.”

 

“Okay,” Harley said. “I see your point. But you could have said all that sooner IF you had just told me.”

 

“Don’t worry, Harl,” Ivy replied, patting her cheek affectionately. “That won’t happen again. Especially since you’re going to be just as involved in making this musical as I am.”

 

_Huh?_

 

“Well, I mean,” Ivy added, smiling, “I can tell you and Gertie will work together SO well.”

 

“I’m so going to kick that big ass of yours now.”

______________________________________________________

 

“Here’s what I don’t get, Red,” Harley said three weeks later. “How are you gonna make Audrey II _shrink_?”

 

Ivy looked up at her from the soil tank. The theater crew had rigged something like a self-propelled container garden that could move in an oval-shaped pattern around the stage. It was three feet deep and six feet in diameter, big enough to support an Audrey II that would eventually grow until it loomed over an adult-sized female. “What do you mean, Harl?”

 

“Well, I mean, Audrey II starts out small, right? And then by the end of the musical she’s a lot bigger? So how do you make her small again for the next performance?” Harley scratched the back of her head. “It ain’t like you’d actually kill her each night.”

 

“Oh no,” Ivy said. “Well, not exactly. It will die, you see. Just of natural causes.”

 

“What?”

 

“I’ve repurposed an old scheme of mine. Remember that Arkham doctor I cloned years ago? The one I pretended to be married to?”

 

Harley narrowed her eyes. “You mean the wedding you didn’t invite me to?”

 

Ivy looked guilty, which meant she also looked irritated. Guilt was one of those emotions Red liked to pretend she was above and all, and she hated being proven wrong. “Well, I was trying to create an image. I had to make it look like I’d gone straight, Harley. People would have been suspicious if my partner-in-crime was my – “

 

“The next words out of your mouth had better be _maid of honor_ , not _wedding guest_.”

 

“They certainly weren’t going to be _flower girl_ ,” Ivy muttered.

 

“So what about this doctor?” Harley asked.

 

Ivy smiled thankfully at her. “It’s a type of plant that grows, matures and dies very quickly. Its lifespan can be measured in days, although I have a growth formula that can cut that to as little as minutes.”

 

Yeah, _that_ sounded like “natural causes”, not that Harley was stupid enough to say so.

 

“I’m trying to perfect the amount of formula it will take,” Ivy had continued, “to have the plant not only grow in stages, but also while fitting the timing of the musical. It will probably have to be administered in doses.”

 

“Yeah, but won’t you have to retrain the plant each day to remember the moves?” Red had very proudly insisted that she could grow something that could be taught to lip-sync and perform choreography.

 

“That’s the best part,” Ivy said smugly. “Remember, at the movie’s climax Audrey II has already started to sprout new talking blossoms. One of those blossoms will eventually become the next Audrey II the following day, AND by then the choreography will have been hardwired into its plant DNA. I think this is quite possibly one of the most brilliant things I’ve ever done.”

 

_Too bad you couldn’t have been this brilliant on more of our crime sprees_ , Harley thought very, VERY privately. Anyhoo, it wasn’t like she’d been a fount of amazing ideas in those days.

 

“What about on Sundays? You know there’s two shows on Sundays and none on Mondays, Red, right?”

 

Ivy stared at her. “You’re kidding.” She bit her lip. “Shit, no, I didn’t know that. I’m going to have adjust my calculations for that now.” She got up from where she’d been working. “I’ll be right back, I need to get my laptop.”

 

Harley watched her vanish into the darkness backstage, then looked again at the glorified box of dirt. _Doesn’t even know Broadway goes dark on Mondays,_ she thought, dismayed. _Lack of experience strikes again. At this rate she’ll be inviting Restaurant Impossible to the Rydbergii next year._

 

Two minutes later she was walking in the direction Ivy had gone. Not because it was kinda scary being by yourself in a darkened theater next to something that looked like an open grave, of course. Because Red had said she’d be right back, and she wasn’t.

 

Turned out Ivy hadn’t gotten far.

 

“Hundreds of Gotham’s elite. Crowded seats in a darkened theater. A giant plant on stage trained to eat people. Sounds like one of your old schemes to me, Ivy,” Batman was saying.

 

“Actually it will only be trained to simulate eating people,” Ivy said indifferently. “Believe it or not, actors are not literally dying to get on Broadway, nor is there a limitless supply of them.”

 

Batman’s eyes flicked over her shoulder and found Harley standing there, frozen. “Quinn,” he said with an extra helping of gravel. “Just like one of your old schemes.”

 

“She’s my girlfriend. We live together, Batman. Where would you _think_ she’d be?” Ivy asked, obviously starting to lose her temper.

 

“At your beck and call.”

 

“How dare you,” she hissed. “She’s not greened! She has a mind of her own!”

 

Batman was still staring at Harley. “Can she speak for herself as well?”

 

“You ain’t exactly been askin’ me questions, Bats,” Harley said.

 

“Fine then. I suppose if this WAS a future crime in progress, you’d even tell me?”

 

“We’re not doing anything wrong,” Harley retorted. “And Red sure as heck ain’t throwing the last three years away so she can kill a few Gotham fat cats. Kinda stupid, if you ask me.”

 

“Hmph,” Batman muttered, glancing at Ivy. “It would be stupid,” he agreed. “And crazy, and irrational. But your girlfriend doesn’t exactly have a track record for being sane and rational, does she? You’re saying you don’t think on opening night she’d be – tempted?”

 

Harley found she didn’t have a quick response to that, because he maybe had a teensy little point. She knew Red wasn’t planning anything beyond a show-stopping musical number. That didn’t mean a theater filled with potential names on Ivy’s hit list, crammed into rows of small seats, wouldn’t give her an itchy trigger finger.

 

“No, of course not,” Ivy said irritably. “As I’ve told you five times already. So unless you have evidence of a crime we’ve committed in the _past or present_ , I’ll ask you to stop bothering us. We’re both very busy.”

 

Batman looked at them both. “I’ll be watching this little production.”

 

“I’ll tell Will Call,” Harley shot back.

 

Once he was gone, Ivy looked at Harley blankly for a moment. “Oh, that’s right, my laptop,” she said.

 

“Hey, Red?” Harley asked timidly.

 

“Yes?”

 

“You don’t think, you know, you might be tempted opening night? Like that chump said?”

 

Ivy sighed. “You don’t trust me?”

 

“I trust you just fine. I trust YOU, and the things you tell me. I don’t know if I trust your impulse control on opening night,” Harley said.

 

“Harley,” Ivy said reasonably. “Why would I do something like that? If I did, I’d be in a padded cell, and you wouldn’t.”

 

Harley flushed. “Aw, Red.”

 

“Now stop being silly. The show must move on. Or whatever it is they say.”

 

“No, um, that’s totally what they say.”

 

She’d be supportive for a day.

 

To be concluded . . .

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Several references to past events, such as Ivy's "Really Bad Day", all took place in "Reap What You Sow", which you can find the link to at the start of Chapter One.


End file.
